


Seaside motel no.9

by laughingpineapple



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: (makes whooshing noises), Gen, Postcanon reunion I GUESS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 17:04:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17770793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/pseuds/laughingpineapple
Summary: Clean place, reasonably priced. Good for a drink.





	Seaside motel no.9

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sinking Beatrice (Beatrice_Sank)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatrice_Sank/gifts).



> Happy Chocobox! \o/

Albert made his way across the motel’s crowded lobby. Black suits with slicked-back black hair filled the small concrete room, talking to themselves, getting in his way like trees do in a dream, dark mazes of twisting pathways . Unlike his dreams, eventually, he made it through. On the other end of the room, Diane was sitting on a small concrete stool at a small concrete bar, pouring herself a drink and leaving a few coins to no-one in particular.

“There you are. I was starting to think I'd need to retrace my trail of breadcrumbs past that Schwarzwald.”

“Oh, Albert. Of course I'm here. You know where I drink.”

She grabbed a clean glass from behind the counter and put it next to hers, motioning for him to join her. Her vintage dress - late Fifties, fitting for the ambient - shone under the electric light. He leaned on the counter, tired after the long journey, wishing he could sit down beside her and talk about the things they used to talk about - James Bond recasts, the virtues of imposed minimalism, soba recipes, outdated takes on color theory. And more, but he forgot.

“Do you have a room here?” he asked instead, feeling every mile of the road behind him in his knees. “How quickly can you pack up and check out?” 

“What?”

“I found you. We can leave.”

She shook her head. “I'm over this, Albert. Don't even try with the raised eyebrow, you one-trick pony, there's no making a fool of me if I'm right. I'm not going anywhere. If other people want me, they can come find me. If other places want me, they can find me too.”

“And how's that working out for you?”

Diane shrugged. She raised her glass. “You're here.”

“I'm here,” Albert agreed. 

He sat on the small concrete stool next to her, letting the weight of the journey drop off his shoulders. They shared a sad smile, and one of Albert’s cigarettes, and a glass of whiskey, and they talked and talked of all the things they used to talk about and some they’d forgotten. They talked of friendship. 

Outside the window, purple clouds gathered over the purple ocean as long waves mounted on the horizon, coming to shore to erase all traces of Albert’s passage and leave only the gray silhouette of a concrete motel facing the shore, forever. In the distance, beyond the waves, a castle rose on the ocean.


End file.
